


come for miles (to see you burn)

by Code16



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Exhaustion, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Half-Sibling Incest, Humiliation, In Public, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sharing, Threats to Loved Ones, Tumblr Prompt, dark!Fingolfin, sorta self sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: Nolofinwe takes Feanor to (in) a courtyard.





	come for miles (to see you burn)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt
>
>> Would you accept public and rip (pants) for a prompt with Feanor and Fingolfin?
> 
> from [this prompt list](https://amourmemes.tumblr.com/post/184995965148).
> 
> (Does anyone have an idea for a better tag that self-sacrifice? That doesn't seem like exactly the right one, but I didn't find any related ones looking at that one to help me get a better one.)

Feanor looks ready to bite him. Gritted his teeth, his famous temper hardly disguised in every line and motion. Were they in any other world, Nolofinwe might have found himself hesitant even to approach him. Let alone -

But he doesn’t have to worry about that any more.

“I do suggest you don’t make this too difficult for me,” he whispers in Feanor’s ear, propelling him toward the courtyard fountain by the arm he’s twisted behind his back.  _ Unless you want me to find an easier target _ he leaves unspoken, this time. Can imagine the look in Feanor’s dark eyes, and the thrill of it rushes through him again. (It’s a simple arrangement, assured as the orders of the Valar that created its circumstances. Feanor will obey, or his children will suffer. Simple, and effective utterly. Nolofinwe could not ask for better.)

Feanor’s knees hit the bottom basin of the fountain. “What do you  _ want _ ?” He sounds almost exasperated. (Nolofinwe had considered ordering his brother silent. Or at least polite. But if he had not wanted Feanor’s fire, he could have had his pick, pretty and obliging bedservants eager for their Valar-ordained prince’s favor. But it was not that which so enticed him.)

“What do you think I want?” He does not have Feanor’s physical strength - the forge and its work were of no interest to him. But what he has suffices. A hand to each side, and Feanor’s trousers tear easily under his grip. To his satisfaction Feanor almost jumps before he takes control over himself again. 

“Have you confused a courtyard with your quarters, brother? It would hardly be out of-” He cuts off Feanor with two fingers in his mouth, takes him around the waist to push him back and sideways, where a higher basin juts out above a mosaiced floor. 

“Put your hands on the edge,” he instructs. Moves his fingers so Feanor’s lips are closed around them, then withdraws them as Feanor obeys; drags his hips back until he stands bent over. Feanor looks as though he has more comments in mind, but makes none of them, grits his teeth again as Nolofinwe inserts a first then second finger into him. He kicks Feanor’s legs further apart before lining himself up and thrusting in.

There is no pleasure quite like this one - his brother’s body forced to accept him, Feanor shuddering under him with the effort of his obedience, and yet not daring to disobey in any deed. He drives into his brother, watches his hands clench white on the fountain’s edge, lays a hand on his arm to feel his muscles tense under his shirt. 

After a little while he changes angles; knows by now where to aim to see Feanor’s heels jerk off the ground, a different current travel up his spine and through his body. Can tell by now, after a moment, when Feanor is holding himself back. Lays a hand on his cock as he whispers in his ear again. “None of that, brother dear. You know better.” 

Feanor bites off either a comment or some sound but again obeys. Nolofinwe moves his hand back, takes Feanor by both hips to keep his aim exact as he speeds up, thrusts in harder and precise. Feanor has pressed his mouth into his own hand. Nolofinwe allows it; the muffled sounds are counterpoint enough as he forces Feanor’s orgasm from him. (He is under no illusion that this is some sign of Feanor’s enjoyment. But then, he is not here for Feanor’s enjoyment. Quite its opposite.)

He slows after that, unhurried thrusts as Feanor shivers, muscles wanting to loosen after their rush but made to stay in place. Comes himself before too long, tucks himself away. Walks to the side to finally see Feanor’s face for himself. “You’ve made a mess,” he points out. “Clean it up.” Feanor raises his head to glare at him.

“Or perhaps I should have someone else do it. Your Curufinwe, maybe. He looks so much like you, maybe I won’t mind the difference.” Now Feanor looks ready to kill him. Nolofinwe almost feels the urge to take a step back. Leans forward instead.

“Leave. My children. Alone.” It is ground out, like a knife against a whetstone.

“Oh, I would love to. If only you don’t make me do otherwise.” The murderous look doesn’t go away. But Feanor drops his head again, pushes himself off the fountain and kneels, leans forward to begin cleaning his come off the mosaic (at least Nolofinwe no longer has to tell him not to use his hands.)

He stays on his knees when he’s finished, though straightens up. Nolofinwe saunters back towards him, sweeping a look over the rest of the courtyard. To no surprise (and to his pleasure), the proceedings have drawn a crowd. “I think,” he remarks to Feanor once he has drawn level with him once more, “you’ve given some people a problem.” (Indeed, he can see how some of the watchers shift in place, tented trousers and a few hands in indicative locations.) 

“It is unlike you to give me credit for your own actions.” He’s almost surprised that Feanor is speaking up again. Torn fabric around his legs and the marks of his task on his lips, somehow he still looks like some sculpture of pride, fire of him leashed but hardly quelled. Nolofinwe smiles.

”We can share credit.    
And as concerns sharing -” He sweeps an arm out at the watchers, gestures at Feanor. “I think I’m in a sharing mood, if you should find yourselves so inclined. His mouth is rightly famous. He doesn’t bite anymore. I promise.”

( _ Do you think _ , he’d said to Feanor, in the beginning.  _ That none of your brood have a few tresspasses to their name? Will not add to their number, presently? They do take after you. Reading banned books, consorting with all sorts. Such conduct cannot be tolerated in Valinor. Perhaps a flogging might teach them better. Your eldest could serve as an example. The blood may match his hair. If someone were to give the matter attention. Issue the sentence.) _

No one comes forward. Nolofinwe can see that same hesitation in their looks, their movements. Cards a hand through Feanor’s hair and grips. “I don’t think they believe me. Perhaps a demonstration.” He takes his cock out again - mostly soft, still sticky with the fluids of before. “Clean me up.”

Even with no intention of asking his body to let him return to fuller arousal, Feanor’s mouth is delectable. The demonstration is effective also. By the time he tucks himself away once more, someone has already stepped forward, and a line is forming. Nolofinwe moves away, indicates his approval to the elf of first initiative. The elf steps forward further, reaches for the laces of his trousers.

Feanor makes no further protests. Opens his mouth for the ellon, puts his mouth to work when the elleth second in line takes him by the hair to pull him between her legs. Does not struggle when the third thrusts deep into his throat with their first stroke. That one pulls out to come on the ground and his own shoes. This time Feanor does not hesitate (not much at least, not longer than a moment. For that much Nolofinwe does not reprimand him, this time) when he is pointed down to clean it up. 

It is after the fourth that Nolofinwe notices an effect that he had not considered. The line is growing faster than it is consumed. Not an unpleasant development, all things considered, but,

“I’m afraid I’ll need to leave you now,” he tells Feanor, when another has finished, streaking his hair with their emission. Feanor starts to try to rise; Nolofinwe preempts it with his boot on Feanor’s thigh. “No, you may stay. We would not want to disappoint your admirers.” If Feanor has anything to say to that, it takes him longer to try to make his mouth form speech again than Nolofinwe gives him. “I do treasure my subjects. Be as good for them as you are for me.” He leaves as the next elleth begins to take her turn, the memory of Feanor’s head between her thighs a lingering pleasure as they disappear from sight.

When he returns the courtyard is darker. The line is almost at an end, a few stragglers and what he is fairly sure is a repeat from earlier. If Feanor’s fire burned, concentrated but undampened even before, now it seems about all that keeps him upright. He is almost surprised when Feanor’s eyes still focus on him as he crosses the flagstones, takes a place at the end of the line. Focus on him again when his turn comes. He fucks Feanor’s mouth slowly, the same exhaustion and stubborn fire obvious in the softness that envelops him, pressure and any motions weighed with their effort. Pushes further to watch Feanor wince, brace but shudder slightly. His throat must be more than raw by now. 

He doesn’t let himself come yet. Pulls out still hard; Feanor’s eyes show an almost ironic resignation. “Bend over at the fountain again.”

With anyone else, he might hardly have expected them to stand. Feanor stumbles twice but stands; his arms tremble of a different cause but do not buckle on the fountain’s edge as Nolofinwe fucks him. “I’ve found it hard to compare, if I prefer your mouth or your ass,” he comments before he’s finished. Feanor’s breath is ragged and hitches; painful, likely. “Perhaps next time I’ll leave you like this. Let everyone else compare.” He finishes for a second time. Wipes his cock on what’s left of Feanor’s trousers. 

“You missed a few spots earlier, I noticed.” He points back at the flagstones. “Make sure you get it all before you leave. I’d hate to hear you left it to the servants.” Feanor, unsurprisingly, still says nothing. Stumbles again getting back to his knees; falls this time. Picks himself up. Nolofinwe leaves him again bent to the stones, hair a matted mess around his face, exhaustion creeping further still through the lines of his body. A picture to treasure, among the set of them.

Nolofinwe could not ask for better. 

**Author's Note:**

> (Sidenote: why are the tags for Threats and Threats of Violence not somehow connected?)
> 
> Title from this [quote I found by google](https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/john_wesley_524895?src=t_fire): "Catch on fire and people will come for miles to see you burn."
> 
> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


End file.
